


The Prince and The Peasant (A Re-Telling of the Medieval AU Storyline)

by MintyFrosty



Category: Henry Stickmin Series (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, And Right's still a himbo; this we know, Copperright, M/M, Medieval AU, honestly i've wanted to write a whole ass fanfic of the whole story so here we go, oh yeah its medieval au, princey protection squad rise up, reg is lowkey a bean in this au, yeah its copperright hell yee
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:34:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29239161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintyFrosty/pseuds/MintyFrosty
Summary: Prince Reginald Copperbottom. A charming young man of twenty-five years of age. For being locked up within palace walls for almost two decades, he decides to take matters into his own hands, escaping the Toppat kingdom to the village in hopes of finding a place of independence. Yet, within his efforts, and unfortunate luck, the prince found quite a mystery commoner that happened to catch his eye.Medieval AU is a Henry Stickmin AU created by MintyFrosty. This is merely a re-telling of the said story.
Relationships: Reginald Copperbottom & Right Hand Man, Reginald Copperbottom/Right Hand Man
Comments: 31
Kudos: 57





	1. A Morally Justified Heist

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all of you wonderful people! Welcome, welcome, one and all!
> 
> Yes, I decided to get my head down and try my best to present a fanfiction of the complete medieval storyline! Either for those who know this story, or new-comers, please, sit back, relax, and enjoy some gay royal sticks :D
> 
> I will quickly say credit where credit is due and a huge shout out to TwilightDaisi and Simphat Clan for helping refine concepts and making this story what it is today. Thank you all so much <33

Today was the day.

Oh, today was the _day!_

A young male, maybe in his early twenties, greeted the mirror with an ear-to-ear smile, adjusting the silk, purple fabric that wore over his shoulder like a glove. Eyes of azure accompanied the smile, filled and bouncing off the reflective surface with undefeatable excitement. An odd look for the gentlemen, because, mind you, not many found him excited about much. Those who knew him well could only say he wore a sad smile wherever he went. Yet, the fate of today had beamed on the young man dressed in royal purple.

Why do you ask?

Well, only because he was about to commit one of the most awaited heists of his entire life.

Now, that wasn't to say that this brunette was a criminal, far from it! He was a man of elegance; grace; dressed in all but the most expensive fabrics yet wore his high title with no pride. Was it criminal for a royal such as himself to not claim such pride in such a position? He thought not; for who could appreciate or love being a prince when all he had ever known was the castle walls? His heart longed for it; cried over it for years upon years for this moment to come. To finally, _finally_ , take some independence and step _outside_ the castle walls. Did it justify the scheme to be moral for the sake of his happiness? Perhaps; but the prince chose not to focus what hypothetical eyebrows some people may raise at the heist he had planned for years.

But today, oh, boy...

Today that was finally about to change. Prince Reginald would be able to really see what the outside world was like. No more relying on the old books written years upon years ago. No more drawing pictures to imagine what mountains and oceans looked as though. No more.

Thanks to his own genius, the prince blocked off any risk of anything getting in his way. His work? Completed hours in advance. Guards? Ha! Rearranged schedules and times for defending the walls. There was the odd hiccup here and there, but the prince was sure he could justify himself in one type of fashion or another! He was _remarkably_ good with his words, after all.

With a brown satchel slung to his side, and the hood covering over his head, the time stuck midday. As much as he was eager, he wasn't impatient, Reginald respectfully making his way down the empty halls of the castle with a darkness that grew in every corner, only defeated by the light from the candles. Had this been his first day walking through these halls, the prince would almost feel scared at the creeping loneliness that took over every atom. Yet, he had grown way too familiar with the feeling that it didn't dare to attack his excitement.

As steps grew closer and closer to the walls within the castle's garden space, there was an increased nervousness. Or, perhaps the second set of excitement layering the first. Who could blame the poor fella? It was a completely new ground for it with no protection. All on his lonesome to breathe his own air and write his own story. Was he really ready after all of this preparation? With a final look back to the castle, and ensuring he hadn't been followed, Reginald broke passed a barrier of hedges, appearing on the other side to reveal his work. A dug hole, barely big enough for a human, had been drilled with several years of hard work—his golden ticket, so to speak, of soothing the ache in his heart. That previous second layer of anxiousness melted down to his shoes, only leaving room for unwavering confidence. Confidence that made him step forward past the castle walls for the first time in nearly two decades.

And at long last, chains broke off his wrists; the noble was free.

It was exhilarating at first. The prince's feet remained apart of the earth for several moments, not willing to break from their roots—the pure _feeling_ of being in such a space—the _visual_ of distance fields viewed in person rather than from the window which mocked him for so long. It really was all before him; all at his command. An endless field that had not one law attached to it. Not one control nor mannerism was shoved down his throat. The prince could breathe.

He was free.

Roots tore away one by one, beginning in a gentle pace yet quickly accelerated into a canter down the grassy hills. Where was he going? Well, he didn't have the most darn of clues! What was the fun in discovering something new if you already had an idea of what was waiting for you? No. No, Reginald wanted every moment of this to be a surprise. And, oh, look! A village! What a stupendous place to start! A place with people, and more than that, culture! The culture he never knew existed. One that he had never experienced in person!

How remarkably exciting!

A small tug met the tip of his hood, ensuring that the crown made of gold and purple jewels couldn't be revealed to such commoners. Not that he didn't think they weren't worthy of seeing such a thing, God no! It was more the concern of even _seeing_ royalty! Mind you, Reginald was about as smart as he was excited. Royalty out in a commoner village wasn't exactly the...best look, especially when he was trying to keep hidden. Yet, that wasn't enough to stop him, of course! Eyes from the royal darted around wherever they could result in the village environment. Some children were out and about, playing some odd game of sticks of some sort? Clashing them together as if it were a battle, it seemed as though. Ah-- That was only one of the events that catch his eye, however! There was some sort of gathering of a crowd, all eyes pinned on a man with a charming, up-selling smile. Another one was a man huddled against the wall of a building, nothing but a lonely guitar in his hand.

A softening look met his eyes, feet directing him over to the huddled man rather than the other, more inviting activities. A beard and age met the commoner's facial features, small fingers battled through a lifetime, making a simple harmony with the strings. Oh-- it was a song he hadn't heard before. It was beautiful, however--! Gorgeous, even; filled with passion even when tired fingers formed the notes. The smallest of smiles met the royal's face, digging through his satchel. The gentlemen had lovely music, so, who was he not to give a tip to the old man? After all, such work should be appreciated! How he didn't have a crowd was beyond him; he deserved it for such a lovely harmony!

"Your music is very charming, sir. Thank you for offering your talents!" The prince was much too quick to put down a stack of five gold coins he had gathered from his satchel. Even too fast to see the man's star-struck face at the sight of so much money as the prince moved himself to the next activity. After all, Reginald thought of it as a tip, not the life-changing amount of money the prince gifted. 

A bread shop had been the next thing to catch the royal's eyes, the tubby owner behind the bench offering every charming smile he had to offer to lure in customers. The prince had never really _bought_ anything for himself before; what an exciting new experience to add to the list--!

Quite possibly, it would have. An adequate memory, really. A memory where Reginald went to that very shop with a warm smile and bought something for himself. Yet, fate had decided to strike the devil of misfortunate upon him, when a hand grasping his cloak from behind destroyed the prince's plan to ash. Force pulled him backward, gravity wanting to pull him down from the unexpecting loss of balance. Two hands prevented that reality, grasping him from the front of his cloak and thrusting the prince's back against a nearby wall. It was dark-- an-an alleyway? What business did people have been so barbaric to shove him into an alleyway?!

"Unhand me--!!" What would've been a command from Reginald's wavering voice became a muffled cry as the unexpected commoner shoved a hand against his mouth. Terror immediately climbed up his veins at sight before him. An unkept, toothy smile met his vision, belonging to the face of a scarred face commoner with a lack of friendliness. There was a second one-- possibly a friend-- there as well, looking just as, if not more, malicious that the one that held him against the wall. G-God-- what--

"Woah, buddy!" Exclaimed the one from the side, one rough hand gripping at their partner's shoulder.

"Be easy with the guy, will ya? Noblemen tend to scream less when ye look after 'em."

W-What--??

How had these two strangers known such a fact? He was utterly disguised--! His cloak of purple was sure to cover over his crown--! Was it his posture? His kindness and attitude toward people? A million questions ran through the young noble's head, finding kicking to be fruitless from how he was held off the ground. Gosh-- the prince had never come into contact with fighting at all-- he barely knew how to raise a sword! But now-- Oh goodness-- whatever was he to do--

"Oi, fooker--!"

A voice called from the side, unlike the other two he'd heard before.

"W'y don't ye pick on someone ye own size f' once!"


	2. Just A Detour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the prince under attack, he finds himself in aid with a mysterious commoner, of which has no name.

What had initially planned to be a journey to enact a revenge-filled deed turned into an unexpected rescue mission. To whom this rescue mission was for, the young man could not say. But seeing the brunette being utterly defenceless against the two robbers was something he would not stand for! Even though he hadn't the knowledge of whom the poor man was.

What the commoner (of which was nameless) had _hoped_ to achieve that day was merely a tasteful plate of revenge. The commoner's belongings were stolen on the previous night. And he was _not_ one to let such an act left unsolved! Dare he say that it was almost insulting how easily these two criminals had managed to get away with something so simple. Did it mean he was discouraged in getting such revenge? Most certainly not! Saving the helpless man pinned against the wall was merely an extra benefit of the situation.

The nameless peasant took a set forward from the side, blade of the daggers being equally as sharp as his eyes. Caramel-filled _hatred_ laid on the two criminals. The one not holding the defenceless twink against the wall grinning with stupid confidence and drawing a blade of his own.

"Well, if it ain't Mister No-Name! Good to see you 'round these parts of town again!"

"Shut yer fookin' mout'" Growled the supposed 'Mister No-Name', clearly having lacking patience for the situation. A burst of mocking laughter echoed through the alleyway from the two criminals, driving the red-haired bandit's ego further into the ground with an iron boot. First, steal his belongings and then make a _mockery_ of him? Ohoho. The bandit wished them nothing more than an unpleasant experience in Hell. With anger controlling his movements completely, the bandit struck his knife forward, aiming for either of them. The one not holding the defenceless man made his move, skidding to the side. For what reason he did that proved to be apparent immediately as a knife drove into the nameless bandit's arm.

_GH--_

Bastard!

If there was one thing this unnamed bandit was good at, it was gritting through pain and baring it. And damn well, this wasn't the time to make an exception, the red-haired bandit sweeping his leg against the dirt floor, successfully colliding with the other male and resulting in him now collapsed on the floor. Good. He didn't have long to celebrate his efforts; however. Two hands grabbed him by behind, pulling him back and throwing him to the floor. His knife skidded out of his grip, trailing off nearby in the dirt. Furious caramel eyes looked up, seeing the criminal's buddy no longer hanging onto the brunette (who had now been pinned to the wall by a stray knife).

Hmpft-!

The bandit wasn't one to waste time, driving his foot into the ankle. The kick didn't do much; the criminal scooted back from the attack with a grin. And then suddenly, without warning, the bandit found himself in a tackle—a mess of kicks and punches and rolling across the dirt floor of the village-alleyway. However, rolling meant movement. Movement meant getting closer to his knife.

Grabbing one of the criminal's oncoming punches, Mister No-Name retrieved a hold of his handle-- Perfect-! In a blind attempt to win the tackle, the bandit stabbed it forward! Unsuccessful; the criminal had snatched his wrist and making him lose grip on the weapon, making it go flying. Even more pathetically, the blade collided with the ankle of the helpless man that the bandit had attempted to help.

He had to cringe back at the scream that came from the smaller man's throat, the bandit face-palming mentally with stupidity.

"Fook-- 'orry-!"

God-- no time for sorry! He was in the middle of a fight here! Whatever was he doing?!

With a growl rising in the back of his throat, the bandit drew a foot back and aggressively shoved into the other man's stomach. It did its job-- the deathly tackle finally coming to a close and giving him some room to breathe. Yet, not a lot of space. No time to hesitate. He was quick to scramble to his feet, not caring for how his muscles ached from being attacked, only grabbing the criminal by the front of his shirt. He didn't have a weapon, but Hell if that was going to stop him--!

Yet, surprising to the nameless bandit, he didn't need to have a weapon; as the man let out a wail of pain. The source, you ask? It came to a shock to the red-haired bandit as well. The brunette had managed to unpin the hold the knife held against him to the wall and proceeding given the criminal's shoulder a fair thrust with the blade. The nameless looked up, merely shocked in his eyes, yet it quickly evaporated. The smaller man looked horrified with himself—no time to waste then. In one movement, the bandit shouldered him to the side, grasping ahold of the smaller man's wrist and bolting.

There was a yelp that followed the action from the brunette, most likely his ankle dammit-- But they had to keep moving until they got out of risk. They'd deal with the wound later, Mister No-Name was sure of it! But first things first was getting the Hell out of there before anyone did some real damage. How long they ran wasn't clear to the bandit, but when the village bled out into a comfortable arrangement of trees with no longer trailing footsteps, it seemed like the ideal place to stop. Concerns immediately began to bubble to the surface, the bandit spinning on his feet to see the smaller man and-- oh--

Shit. Mister No-Name underestimated how hurt the smaller man was. A trail of blood ran down his ankle, leaving a decently sized pool the whole way to the forest--goddammit! Why did he have to be so impatient and _check_ if he was alright or not!? Stupid instincts; not everyone was as tough as he! Damn-- suppose he owed this guy some help; it was the least he could offer for the mess that the commoner had created.

"Oi; yer a'right?" God, what a thrilling start.

The commoner tried to pass the thought that insulted his ego, rough hands reaching down to hold the man's shoulders steady, which were shaking. The smaller man's frame jumped at the touch, blue eyes looking up from underneath his purple cloak and brown, curly hair. A little nod was the answer he received, yet quickly persued with a shake of his head. Right, of course, he wasn't alright! The commoner whipped his head around for _something_ that could assist-- aha! There was a bolder big enough to sit on; indeed, the bandit could lend a hand there.

"C'mon; let's getcha bandaged up."

The brunette didn't seem to provide any agreement to the situation, a quiet voice squeaking underneath his cloak that the commoner couldn't understand. Regardless, the nameless peasant brought him over to the rock, allowing him to sit before he examined over the knife sticking out. Dammit- why did he have to be such a lousy shot? With a mental scolding to himself, the bandit tore off a piece of his sleeve. It wouldn't be the best of bandages, but leaving it bleeding wasn't going to help anything. The bandit wrapped a hand around the knife, immediately noticing the man's tightened and stressed body language. Ah, well, the smaller man didn't look like the fighting type, and he seemed utterly horrified at assisting the bandit in battle. And getting a knife removed wasn't exactly a pleasant experience.

Why was the commoner so focused on this man's comfort? He couldn't answer that himself. Perhaps it was because he was injured beforehand? Or, possibly an unpaid debt for helping in out in the heat of the fight.

Oh well; no use to dwell on it.

Gruff, coffee-brown eyes met the quivering sapphire orbs of the smaller male.

"Aye. 'm just gonna take this blade out and patch you up, a'right?"

Another squeak was his answer, a small nod proceeding it. The nameless bandit gave the brunette a little moment to brace himself before the commoner efficiently pulled the blade out of his ankle. Of course, he expected the sharp intake of breath, the muscles in the smaller man's ankles squirming underneath the now open wound. Without hesitation, the bandit ripped a miniature sheet off his clothing to provide as a bandage, muttering a small apology with a secured knot.

Good. Good.

At least that would help the blood clot and provide the man support, even if the handiwork was relatively low in quality.

"T'ere." Murmured the bandit, brushing off his hands with a rise to his feet.

"S'ould be able ta' last ya for a while." And honestly, the nameless bandit believed that that would be the end of their exchange. It wasn't as if he was a busy man, far from it. But the commoner most certainly didn't like to stay in the same place for long. He only came to Toppat to check on an old friend, Wilhelm, who owned a blacksmith on town's outskirts. So, was it criminal of him to assume he should get on his way? His answer came immediately, for as he turned around to leave, a gentle hand came to his, tugging him back with the force of a feather falling.

"W-Wait--"

So, the mysterious cloaked man did have a voice. As small as it was, it ultimately made the peasant stop in his tracks, boots grinding to disturb the dirt beneath him. A turn of his head revealed those same azure eyes looking to him underneath that cloak, looking hesitant but confidence as if that were possible. There was more hesitation than belief; however, obvious how the smaller man had to consider his words a second time before raising that same voice again.

"Your arm..."

His arm?

One glance was all the evidence the peasant required to figure out why the smaller man had brought it to light. His shoulder to his elbow suffering a gash, one he long forgot about; for how could remember the first attack against him when he was competing for his life? It wasn't an unreasonable gash, mind you, merely the piercing of his skin. Wouldn't take any more than the smaller man's treatment to ensure he would be fine within a couple of days, yet it made sure he would get a shiny new scar to add to his collection. The commoner shook his head, pulling his hand back to release from the brunette's grip with a shrug.

"I'll be fine--"

"No! Please; allow me to assist you." 

...

Well then.

Not only had the brunette interrupted his statement, but he'd jumped to his feet at the moment, eyes full of compassion to aid. The accent was odd for Mister No-Name; sounded almost foreign for village people. Then again, purple did paint his clothing, the most expensive of fabrics to buy. Perhaps an upper-class village person? A mayor, maybe? Now, Mister No-Name was highly opinionated on a lot of things. But the upper-class? Ha. He hated them with all of his passion. Did it automatically mean that this man was apart of the upper class? No, not at all. Noblemen usually had guards upon guards to ensure they were perfect from any angle at any time. But this young man wasn't so much; he looked alone and shaken to the core. So, perhaps stolen clothing? He wouldn't be surprised; Mister No-Name had indeed committed a few counts of theft in his time. It was the only explanation on why he wore such extravagant clothing. It was also evident from his overall polite mannerisms. Most, if not, all of the nobles the red-haired bandit knew were snobbish people who didn't give two damns about you; of which the smaller male was certainly not.

But, at that moment, the nameless bandit found himself to be mainly stuck. Whilst he did assist this man, helping people nor receiving help wasn't programmed anywhere in his genes. The peasant did have to take a moment to blink at the request, for a second thinking he was joking. Yet no. This young man, whoever he was, persisted on it; determined to help. Perhaps in a different timeline, Mister No-Name would've been able to refuse the offer once more, push himself aside and get on with his day. Yet, that gentle voice came out again, stopping that motion in time to follow a different path.

"Please you...you saved my life. At least let me pay you the owed debt I have gathered for myself."

At that point...who was the red-haired bandit to refuse? Hell, it probably was easier for him to get well with the assistance of another, perhaps. Oh bother; his pride could suffer the damage.

The red-haired bandit gave the brunette a look before letting his shoulders fall into a shrug.

"A'right. A'right. You win." Claimed Mister No-Name, raising his hands as a charge of criminal activity had put against him. The brunet quickly understood the agreement, loosening the _costly_ looking coat of his shoulders and tearing a sleeve. How curious; the commoner would've thought that this man would treasure such an article of clothing. Yet no; almost carelessly threw it away to heal wounded limb as if it were a dirty rag. Hell; Mister No-Name could barely refute such a response back he was in such shock, merely allowing the man to mend at his arm to a form a, slightly overdramatic, bow.

And seemingly satisfied with his work, the brunette sighed and let himself lay back on his rock, storing the remaining on his cloak back into his pouch. 

"I do hope you can recover well Mister...oh, forgive my rudeness; I never acquired your name, sir."

If there was a lingering confusion on the man's behaviour before, it undoubtedly solidified any belief that this brunette wasn't your average commoner. Speaking in such mannerisms; referring to him as 'sir'; Hell, even remarking himself as rude for not knowing an impossible fact. The red-haired bandit shouldn't focus on it all too much; he scheduled to leave down not even a week from now! But dear _God_ , he did _not_ want to deal with the repercussions of interacting with a noble.

He merely shook it off; directly moving to the next topic.

"Feh; ain't rude of you. 'm leavin' next week anyway so it won't matter none."

"Oh, I see."

Again, what the bandit pictured to be the end of the conversation proved to push forward. Although sad at the rejected request, the brunette's eyes merely looked down in a nod to see his ankle. In that small moment, the bandit took it upon himself to make his way out of the conversation, only stopping once more when the voice had surfaced again.

"You must forgive me for asking this, but could I burden you to escort me back to my resistance? I doubt I will be so useful on my own. But I happy to provide any compensation through gold, if you desire that."

The commoner felt himself getting deeper and deeper in the ditch that had begun to form at his feet—offering him money to escort him? At first, the red-haired bandit thought of it to be a trick. Had to be. No one just gave away money like that. The commoner scanned up and down the smaller man's frame, looking for any sign of deceit.

Yet, none he found. Only a shaking figure that was heavily wounded.

Mm; poor bugger was probably thinking about how on Earth he was going to get himself home. And, well, judging by the way he got mugged, the bandit was almost sure that there was a lacking motivation to do so. It shouldn't, should _not_ , be any right of the peasant to be the one to escort him home but...

But the smaller man _did_ help bandage his arm; had those pleading eyes looking at him.

...

_Sigh._

Suppose he could make the detour.

And at the very least he could mug the guy if he didn't get the reward like promised.

"Aye." The commoner took a moment to stretch out his limbs, muscles and bones popping into place.

"I don't mind dropping you home."

Just a small detour. 

Nothing more than a small detour.


	3. A Noble Problem

And so they began.

Reginald, at the very least, was immensely grateful for the fact that this commoner had gone out of his way to escort him home, considering everything that had happened before that event. Incredibly kind when the prince contemplated the fact that he was indeed a stranger to this mysterious man. Of course, the royal offered money as compensation for his efforts, though it certainly didn't mean that the prince wasn't thankful for it!

However, a small disturbance came with the whole 'escorting' process, the prince noted. As you would find it, having a deep wound within your ankle made it unfortunately extremely hard to walk on your own. Reginald had almost toppled to the ground in a heap when having to even  _ stand _ on his lonesome. The commoner immediately saw that the prince would need assistance, prompting him to act as a crutch underneath his arm. But that was the problem, you see. Closeness. Interaction. After in, anyone in respectable society would agree that royalty and commoners shouldn't even  _ speak  _ to one another _ ,  _ let alone be so close to the point they were touching. No; Everything in the prince's screamed at him that it was wrong. Wrong and out of the picture, for all he cared. For who was he to question the rules that had been shoved down his throat for years upon years? The closest he'd ever interacted with someone else was servants and maid fixing up his attire or combing his hair, not merely holding one another as if it was no big deal--!

But, the prince supposed, it was customary for everyone  _ but _ himself.

It was common for people to support you walking when you couldn't. It was natural for people to bandage other people's wounds without thinking about the implications of status. Typical for village people. It was another fascinated that Reginald had with the whole settlement life. Life without rules; one of the main reason he found himself to be so determined to leave the castle in the first place. It was just a place without all those rules. Not a worry, you had to perfect in every context not to have others think lowly of yourself, even when that was near impossible when you held the title of 'your highness', 'your majesty' and so on.

Because, for the young prince, that was normal.

But for the outside world, he was nothing more than a stranger wandering through mines.

Not normal.

Different; the wrong kind.

"So, where do you live anyways?"

Oh--

The gruff voice of the mysterious commoner had brought the prince out of his endless maze of thoughts, finally finding the exit with a shift of his eyes to meet the other's caramel. They were a distinct brown, of which he could hardly read the emotion behind them. But they were rough, crunched in a way that was curious for an answer with a carefully raised brow. A hand from the prince fiddled with the hood of his cloak, a few brown curls from his knotless hair meeting the sunshine. That same hand pointed past the market place of which he had come.

"Just over the way, I believe. Near the north side of Imperial Hill."

His answer had provided an immediate response, the two of them coming to a near halt when the commoner abruptly dug his feet into the ground. Voice crying out with a yelp from the sudden stop, the prince whipped his head around. Gosh-- was something the matter? Was there a threat ahead or something along the way? Or--

Almost as immediately as the two had stopped, so had the commoner's expression; the grip on his arm no longer as strong. In a way, that coffee look reflected a response of utter disgust, mixed with confusion and surprise. Whatever had produced such a response--? Was it something the prince said? Gosh, he wasn't sure. Reginald could already feel his stomach dropping. Did he offend the peasant?

It took several moments for the commoner to compose himself again.

"As in, the noble area?"

...

Oh.

A mixture of embarrassment and dread dropped to his stomach and rose to his face, splashing with a simple hue of rose. Nobles. It didn't mean royalty, but Reginald could  _ see _ the visible disgust. His opinion was immediately apparent. The loosened grip on the prince's arm was all the confirmation that he required. Heat began to build up, the royal pushing himself back from the peasant's grip with an increasing anxiousness. Did the royal  _ think _ a commoner would be okay with escorting a nobleman as such? Or even  _ talk _ , or  _ speak to _ them. Gosh, maybe things weren't as backward as he thought. Maybe commoners thought so lowly of noblemen if they disobeyed code. Why else would the peasant look at him with such an irritating look? Or perhaps it was explicitly the prince's actions. Of course,  _ of COURSE! _ The commoner probably thought so little of him for talking to him or being so close. Perhaps commoners beliefs weren't so different from nobles, and the peasant thought this was just as wrong as he believed.

The prince brought a hand to his mouth as if it would hide his words, eyes looking anywhere other than forward.

"I-- yes-- Goodness-- I apologise if I offended you with such information--! Believe me; it was not my intent! I-- I just--"

The prince's words melted underneath his embarrassment, two now shaking hands gripping at the top of his coat and pulling down the fabric to hide his now red face. God, what was he doing? Why did he think that this was okay? For a mere  _ peasant _ to interact with a noble and not have the mysterious man think lowly of him? He should make the trail home, for what good was he doing driving a scene that directly came from his status? And that was  _ precisely _ his plan--

THUD

\--had his ankle not been in such a poor condition.

It was, really, the first time the royal had ever tumbled to the ground in a heaping pile of dust, grains of sand shifting underneath his clothing in a persistent matter. A yelp of pain followed through with the thud, a groan of agony muffled from the heap the prince found himself to be. Had the prince been correct about his thoughts on the commoner's opinions, Reginald truly believed he'd walked away from him. Although cruel, the vision of seeing the mysterious man's eyes dull with disgust at the location only made him think it to be true. However, what earnestly caught him off guard is the hand that placed itself on his back; the prince couldn't tell if it was with malicious intent or otherwise.

From his crumpled position on the flooring, the royal plucked his head up from the ground as would an ostrich. The purple of his cloak had shifted from his head, revealing the bright and fluffy curls that longed to see the sunshine, a careful bow tying it neatly in a ponytail. Azura eyes looked back to the commoner, who crunched down to the royal's side in aid, expression unreadable. If Reginald had to guess, it was a mixture of disgust and concern.

What that meant, he didn't know.

"Careful ." Echoed that gruff voice, the peasant reeling back and offering a hand to him.

"Shesh, if your head makes you panic like that all the time, you should take better care of yourself."

Scratch his earlier statement; that was what caught him off guard. At first, the prince thought it was a little joke, wanting to trigger his sense of humour to at least  _ chuckle _ . But no; that unreadable expression was anything but joking, perhaps a little demanding as well? Reginald honestly couldn't tell. The words did take a while to flow through his mind, the royal reeling back from his inclined position to accept the commoner's extended hand of help. If anything, he felt lost. Why was this mysterious man now helping him if he looked so disgusted before?

Er--

Mm.

Gosh, commoners were so confusing.

Once Reginald had regained his ground, a weak hand retraced back his hoodie, letting the gentle fabric fold back over his skull to conceal his complexion once more.

"I, erm-- apologise-- I just wish I hadn't offended you at all--!"

Two red-haired eyebrows crunched down on the other man's facial features, wrinkles skewing to form a squint of suspicion. Or was it confusion? Perhaps a mixture of the two. The prince, however, did not find such a stare very comforting; it looked as though the commoner saw the prince with three heads.

"Offended?" His voice echoed somewhat of amused confusion.

"Nah. Imperial Hill is just where all those nobles live. I'm not a fan of the place."

Oh?

A tidal wave of relief overcame the prince instantly. It was the  _ location _ , not the prince himself, that upset the mysterious saviour. Reginald couldn't be more relieved, as he would find it humiliating for his first interaction with a commoner to be an unpleasant memory. Luckily, fate had smiled upon the young prince. Or, more actually, smiled upon him, kicked him to the dirt, then smiled on him once more. Yet, fate's smile was enough to bring one to his face and an audible sigh making it visible for the taller man to see.

"Oh, forgive me, sir. I merely worried I offended you with my resistance location. I do hope this doesn't create any, erm, disturbance to the escort."

Ohoho, there was a lot more of a 'disturbance' now.

As if a wet fish slapped him square in the face, the taller man could only ponder on how on  _ Earth _ he hadn't come to the conclusion this man was a nobleman. His damn accent and way of speaking were proving enough, but the fact that he lived on Imperial Hill sent off ALL of the red flags. He'd be lucky if the shorter male didn't arrest him for even touching him during the escort (then again, he wasn't sure HOW he could escort him without acting like a crutch). With the new information in the air, the peasant wasn't taking a damn  _ near _ chance with this noble. Mister No-Name had run into enough nobles in his time, and he didn't need to escape from a dungeon on his week off. However, possibly beneficial for him was that the brunette seemed  _ very _ polite, or was it just an act? Who was to say anymore. The red-head was still trying to process that he  _ helped _ a noble willingly when he declared that he despised their kind.

But this noble was not like those he knew—a kind face, one with delicate features that smiled so fragilely, it was a wonder how he wasn't an anxious mess of a person. Yet, everything he did was polite. He even addressed the mysterious saviour by 'sir.' when he was naive to his name. And, honestly, he didn't doubt he call him as such against, for he hadn't given the noble a name. The bottom line was; he wasn't a regular noble. Not by a long shot.

It didn't mean that he was going to test his chances, however.

Now oddly trying to watch his tone (which he found excessively annoying), the commoner offered an arm back to him once more.

"Nah. Let's just get on our way."

_ So he could get this absurd day over with already-- _

The now revealed noble acted immediately, wrapping his arm around him in a tight hold as they began their march once more. Any light-hearted conversation that would've started from the two became a sucking silence remained drowned out by the city's suffocating noises. Good. The red-head didn't want anymore to do with this noble anyways. His head was already tired to ponder on this mysterious higher-up more. A lot of things seems much more backward yet forward at the revelation. A  _ noble _ willingly ripped his  _ purple _ cloak that was anything but cheap. The coat was likely more expensive than the theft himself. Yet, the brunette deemed it more worthy of treating his wound than keep such a precious item.

He couldn't understand.

The town's drowning sound began to fade, a growing disgust forming in the bandit's stomach as his legs pushed to carry both himself and the noble up the hill. God, he hated noble territory. They  _ had _ to place themselves on a mountain with the best view of the ocean just to rub it in every commoner's face that they were better. Pricks. He just had to drop this noble off, get his money, and then he'd get out of here--

"Uhm-- sir--"

_ Sir. _

_ It didn't sound right. _

The squeaking voice came up again, the peasant shooting a raised eyebrow at the prince. There always seemed to be hesitance in his eyes, now that the paid attention.

"Mm?"

"This isn't the correct direction; my resistance is east is here."

East?

No.

No, surely not.

The castle,  _ the royal kingdom, _ was to the east.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY I'VE BEEN GONE AA :O !!!  
> Assessment time, so, apologies I've been a bit slow :"D !


	4. A Grand Reward

"T'e castle?"

No.

No...

Along the eastern horizon, there laid the castle of Toppat. It was a behemoth statue; walls cascaded higher than any man could climb on his lonesome. But even such brickwork couldn't hide what it longed to protect. It was littered with spires, more than one could count with a reasonable amount of time, its white walls standing with pride to display its power. For at the peak of the hill, anyone would be intimidated by the shadow it cast upon the village.

It seemed like heaven, a place that dreamed in the heads of commoners that tainted every other thought. The  _ dream _ to be wealthy. To have every need done at your feet, a glass of wine in your right hand. The theft was guilty of such thoughts that much was true. But it did not mean he was a fool to what the castle was.

A death spiral, it was.

Judgement days weren't manageable burdens. The royal court was as merciful as they were poor. Nobles and royals being so high in the world that they thought it was justified to kill any commoner that steps out of line. An also guarantee you'd face imprisonment for every pushing noblemen. He would know. Being a theft got you in all types of trouble. Trouble meant getting caught red-handed. And the mysterious bandit was  _ well _ aware of the fact that if he weren't as light on his feet, his body would be dead in a ditch somewhere.

If he deemed the nobility were sour, the royal court were a field of lemons that would never turn sweet.

And, standing by his side, was a member of the royal court.

Right.

Fucking.

Next to him.

All his senses went haywire instantly; every part of his body flaring with goosebumps underneath his long sleeves. He should tear away, but he discovered himself ten feet down in the mud, his mind  _ shrieking _ at him to run, but none of his thoughts turned to movements. This young man, drenched in a purple coat with gold engravings, was a  _ fucking _ royal. How stupid was the commoner?! Could he not make such a parallel on his lonesome?! Why didn't he have any guards if he was what he claimed?! What was he  _ doing _ out in the village?!

His voice couldn't breathe, barely able to trigger his vocal cords to form words. Here he was, standing in the middle of Imperial Hill between the  _ dozens _ of noble houses with a  _ literal royal.  _ A royal who seemed as though he offended the commoner with everything he did or said as if the theft himself was a noble. Everything seemed backward.

_ Everything was wrong. _

"Oh--erm, yes--? I...uhm..."

There it was again—that  _ nervousness _ .

The anxiety that he would only see in a commoner about living in a  _ castle.  _ Would he be proud of such a thing? The theft would be; anyone would! But everything the brunette did was so  _ careful.  _ So precious to make sure nothing he said offended anyone.

Jesus Christ.

All the bandit could think to do was straighten his posture, hands reeling back from the noble to wring them out frequently.

"Shit-- I--I'm 'orry I shot you--"

Jesus, what a great start.

'I'm sorry I shot you.'. 'I'm s _ orry I shot you!?' _

Was that the first thing that his mind spat out? An apology of all things. He should  _ know _ that royals couldn't care  _ less _ about apologies when your head rested upon a guillotine. No matter how much you screamed, your fate still ended the same. But his mind couldn't  _ think  _ of anything else. He'd never met royalty before; what was he supposed to even  _ say to him-- _

"Oh-- goodness, please don't be sorry, sir--! You were in the heat of a battle; I couldn't have expected you to protect a stranger when you were fighting for your life."

...

What?

If the bandit wasn't confused, he  _ indeed _ was now. Not  _ only _ had brunette not made such a big fuss out of all this situation, yet he retorted his apology with another? A member of the royal court apologising to  _ him? _ He must be dreaming. He  _ had _ to be.

What member of royalty acted like this?

"Uh--"

The worry was still there, those giant blue orbs staring at him with such fear; the commoner was sure he could break into a panic attack. The shorter male now fumbled with his gloved hands, legs struggling to keep him standing on the ground on his lonesome. It was as if a mere fly could topple him to the ground, looking so out of his element. The disgust from the red-haired male's face had long since disappeared, only replaced with the confusion of a thousand men. One of his scarred hands lifted, shaking it to be reassuring.

"N-Nah Nah. Uh-- 'orry I ain't met royalty b'fore uh--"

"O-Oh-- No-- no, please don't be sorry. Goodness-- I apologise for this situation. I can make my way home from here if you're not comfortable. Here-- oh bother-- wait--"

Just as the royal had promised, his fumbling hands went to the pouch that rested comfortably on his waist. A sack of jingling coins came out, merely taunting the commoner with all of its contents. Right, the reward thing. Was this whole escort worth the one dollar he would get from this? His brain hurt from the conflicting information, his entire perspective on royals flipping on his head--

The brunette held out the pouch to him, not pulling anything out for him to take.

"H-Here you are-- I am still terribly sorry to have troubled you with this. I hope this is enough to pay you for my debt."

At first, he thought of it as a joke, a cruel noble going to pull the pouch away right as the theft reached for it. But no. No, he kept it in front of him, open eyes pleading to take the musical money that echoed warm water and food for the next year. It took a while, the commoner's autumn eyes fixated on the silk woven fabric so precious, it looked as though a machine made it. The theft was offered a grand award— a theft who'd done no more than walking the royal halfway to his destination and was responsible for the wound in his leg. This regal, whoever he was, was that grateful for his efforts when most nobles would've sent him on death's trial by down.

_ Jesus Christ. _

Wordlessly, his hands picked up the satchel.

The weight of the bag itself was enough to prove that it was gold.  _ Real gold. _ Maybe the bandit would take it down to Wilhelm to confirm it as such. He swore his heart was going a mile a minute, brain all too slow to think of any reasonable explanation of what the events of today meant.

The only one he could reasonably think of was that there was a part of the royal that cared.

"Thank you again, sir--" That squeaky voice broke him from his thoughts again, looking up just in time to see the royal adjust the cloak over his head also.

"I hope you have a safe trip to wherever you're travelling to."

And with no more words, the royal began his stumble to the east. It was slow. Painfully slow, looking much more like a hopple then any noble walk he expected. A shaky exhale from the commoner's breath was the only verb goodbye he gave, eyes fixated on the small pouch that fumbled between his scarred hands. The first time he's ever met royalty, and it was against every instinct he'd ever known. Everything he'd ever believe. The brunette had delicate features, which contained the most gentle of smiles. Elements that couldn't form a hateful look even if he tried. It wasn't the snobbish, exaggerated features he'd known nobility to be—instead, the tone and attitude of a newborn deer who was trying his best to stand on his four legs.

Not normal.

Not regular for any noble he'd ever met.

The weight of it all suddenly fell off of the shoulders of the theft, his heart suddenly pounding with pressure. That was the kindest noble he'd ever come across; he never acquired his name. He had to find out. He couldn't just  _ continue _ with his life when every belief he'd ever had turned fictional. His legs broke out into a sprint, head snapping to the east.

"Wait!"

But the brunette was already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I now how big motivation for this fanfic so buckle up and enjoy a second chapter in two days :D !

**Author's Note:**

> Annndd there's chapter one! Thank you for reading :D!


End file.
